


a semi-reasonable alternative to arson

by novoaa1



Category: Legacies (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, copious instances of lizzie using many rather unsavory monikers to refer to landon, lizzie saltzman has a crush adn she doesn't know what to do about it, smooth talker hope mikaelson, we still love her tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:27:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21732214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/novoaa1/pseuds/novoaa1
Summary: “Josie, how did you handle your crush on Hope?”Josie promptly chokes on her celery stick at Lizzie’s blunt question, a slight blush tinting her powdered cheeks as the rest of the group turns to eye her with interest. “I—W-What?"Lizzie fights the urge to roll her eyes at her twin. “Pleasedon’t make me repeat myself.”Josie swallows thickly, setting her half-eaten celery stick back down on her plate. “Well, I—"“Wait a second,” Lizzie interjects, having quite suddenly found herself hit with a rather brisk epiphany on the matter in question. “Why am I asking you? Your solution was arson.”Or: Lizzie has a crush on Hope. She's handling it. (Sort of.)
Relationships: Hope Mikaelson/Lizzie Saltzman, Josie Saltzman & Lizzie Saltzman
Comments: 16
Kudos: 342





	a semi-reasonable alternative to arson

**Author's Note:**

> ok pls be nice i didnt really edit this at all but like its 7am and i pulled another all nighter and i dont wanna spend any more time on this than i have already cause i got finals so like ya know

Lizzie Saltzman was _not_ having a good day. 

And maybe, she supposes, that’s not all that rare of an occurrence anymore: certainly not since the very first years at Salvatore Boarding School in Mystic Falls, what with Josie setting Hope’s entire room on fire over a long-held crush that Lizzie didn’t even _know_ about until approximately three weeks ago, and the all-encompassing pit of obsidian goo called Malivore sending zombie Bio Mom the week of Lizzie and Josie’s Sweet 16 to rain hellfire on what little stability they’d managed to retain as a family since everything started going to crap. 

And that’s not even to _mention_ Frodo freaking Baggins showing up in all his garden gnome glory on the front steps of Salvatore lugging a pretty werewolf with nice arms in tow who would only serve to make Lizzie’s effed-up life all the more confusing than it was to begin with (—which, for your information, was already pretty freaking confusing). 

Then Hope (that self-sacrificing _idiot_ ) jumped into the goo and Josie started dating the hobbit and Lizzie got chained to a tree and then Josie did some seriously heavy hoodoo voodoo that somehow made Lizzie remember _everything_ —but even then, of _course_ that couldn’t be the end of it. Because, before she could get around to telling anyone she died a gazillion times over trapped with Hope in some screwed-up Pacman simulation, everyone was suddenly remembering ‘cause Josie did some more extremely crazy hoodoo voodoo but Lizzie still thinks that the lot of them are on drugs (possibly herself included) because, like, _What the hell?_

These are _so_ not normal problems for 16-year-olds to be having, witches and phoenixes and supernatural- _whatevers_ or not. 

(Also, how is it that literally no one else seems to be having a hard time digesting the apparent reality that multiple people have been and are currently under the inexplicable impression that they do, in fact, wish to have the ugly little gargoyle-faced offspring of one Landon Kirby?

Is Lizzie really the only one that’s confused by this?)

But, you know what? Fine. 

It’s fine; Lizzie is an evolved, independent woman living in the 21st century, and she will take what comes, the good and the bad (and the outright _weird_ , apparently). 

But, you wanna know what she _can’t_ handle? 

Do you wanna know what—or _who_ , rather—is currently doing a remarkably thorough job of ruining her day? 

Hope _freaking_ Mikaelson—that’s who. (And _not_ in the usual way.) 

Because, let’s get one thing clear: Lizzie is not one who waits around on someone—or _anyone_ , really. Not by a long shot. 

This very well may be her year of “Yes,” her year of taking what comes as gracefully as she can manage, but that does not, by any means, render her stagnant. 

She has a whole _life_ to be living, for Christ’s sake, and she’ll be damned if she lets any boy (or girl) take that away from her.

No. This year, things are different. 

So how the hell is Hope _freaking_ Mikaelson, of _all_ people, succeeding so effortlessly at making it feel like the same old song? 

So, fine, they killed a Minotaur together. Big whoop. 

And, yeah, maybe they hung out for days after that ‘cause Lizzie wanted to tell Josie about Hope but Hope didn’t want Lizzie to tell Josie so Lizzie attached herself to Hope’s proverbial hip in the meantime to make sure she wouldn’t spill the beans to Josie. 

(And maybe, just maybe, she kind of liked the way Hope smelled, like flowers and vanilla bean and the beach at sunset and the way she smiled at Lizzie with that gorgeous twinkle in her blue-green eyes, like maybe for just a second they were existing in a universe where the two of them didn’t dislike each other so much. 

Like maybe there was a place where Lizzie could smile at Hope and Hope could smile back and the whole thing didn’t have to feel so indubitably confusing no matter the way it made Lizzie’s chest flutter in a way she’d been sure only existed in the movies.)

And now, they’re friends, or… something. 

Which is _fine_. That’s _fine_. 

Lizzie doesn’t care—well, yes, she does, but only as a friend. Because that’s what they are: friends. Sort of.

And that’s _fine_. 

She tells herself that all day, through waking up and dragging Josie out of bed and attending mind-numbingly boring classes on a bajillion magical history things she really couldn’t care less about… but, when she’s plopping herself down beside Josie and Raf and Landon (ew) and MG and Kaleb to eat lunch, she still isn’t quite convinced. 

So, she does the logical thing: she takes a poll. 

“Josie, how did you handle your crush on Hope?” 

Josie promptly chokes on her celery stick at Lizzie’s blunt question, a slight blush tinting her powdered cheeks as the rest of the group turns to eye her with interest. “I—W- _What?_ "

Lizzie fights the urge to roll her eyes at her twin. “ _Please_ don’t make me repeat myself.”

Josie swallows thickly, setting her half-eaten celery stick back down on her plate. “Well, I—"

“Wait a second,” Lizzie interjects, having quite suddenly found herself hit with a rather brisk epiphany on the matter in question. “Why am I asking you? Your solution was arson.”

Josie’s blush worsens even as Kaleb promptly bursts into laughter from the other end of the table. (In retrospect, that may have been the wrong way to go about it.)

“I—I—" Josie sputters, clearly at a loss.

“Frodo!” Lizzie tries next, turning to their resident bug-eyed hobbit, who just owlishly blinks his wide green eyes back at her like he can’t quite believe she’s addressing him, directly. (Honestly, Lizzie herself can’t quite believe it either.) “What did you do when you realized you had the hots for Hope?”

“I—I—" he stutters, and Lizzie narrows her gaze—she doesn’t have _time_ for this. “Well, I guess I just… told her how I felt, you know?”

Lizzie squints a little bit harder at him for a second or two. “Gross.”

Landon just blinks uselessly back at her, all doe-eyed gaze and slackened jaw and an entirely stupefied expression on his gnome-like features that has her absolutely _itching_ to blast him into another consciousness. 

“Raf!” she continues swiftly on, then, never one to be deterred by minor setbacks (and certainly not in the mood to be blasting _anyone_ at the current moment, even their resident bug-eyed Gollum). "What did _you_ do?”

Raf flushes slightly, fiddling with the fries on his plate. “All due respect, I-I don’t think that that’s any of your business, Lizzie—"

“Just tell me.”

“I avoided her. For... weeks.”

Lizzie cocks a single surprised brow in response, in part because the muscled boy had crumbled so quickly under questioning, though mainly because… _Yikes_.

“Yikes."

Raf ducked his head as if attempting to hide himself behind his tray. (Obviously, it doesn’t quite work.)

“Wow, so you’re all absolutely _no_ help,” Lizzie concludes when it’s clear Raf isn’t budging as she stands abruptly from her seat, leaving her lunch tray more or less untouched. “What am I supposed to do now?”

“Wait a second,” MG chimes in then, ever-so-helpful. “Do you have a crush on H—”

“Shut it, Milton,” Lizzie snaps quickly, feeling her cheeks heat. “I’m leaving now.”

❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖

“I heard you’ve been asking about me,” comes Hope’s melodic voice from the doorway. 

Lizzie hates the way her heart skips a beat in her chest as she whirls around atop her bed to confirm that it is, in fact, her—Hope Andrea Mikaelson, standing just feet away from her wearing skin-tight jeans and scuffed black combat boots and that trademark ‘I know something you don’t’ smirk that used to make Lizzie’s blood boil, but now just makes her feel like melting on the spot into a puddle of useless goo. 

(She can’t decide which she prefers.)

Still, Lizzie is nothing if not quick on her feet, and she doesn’t intend to lose her nerve now: “Do you use that line on all the girls?” she retorts. It’s not much of a comeback but it’s _something_ , and it makes Hope smile so really, Lizzie can’t find it in herself to regret it all that much.

“Just the ones I like,” Hope gives back as good as she gets (because of _course_ she does—she always has), stalking forward on sure feet before sitting herself upon the corner of the duvet just inches away from Lizzie like she owns it. And unfortunately, Lizzie can’t really even manage to be annoyed at her for that, because suddenly she’s so _close_ and she smells so _good_ and God, but Lizzie can’t help wanting to be even closer than they are now, if such a thing exists.

“Smooth talker,” Lizzie quips even as she feels her breath hitch in her throat at the way Hope’s looking at her—all jade-green eyes and pouty pink lips and something like rare sincerity written all over her smooth features. 

(Really, Lizzie’s just grateful she’s managed not to pass out thus far.) 

“Only with you,” Hope tells her then—softly, so softly Lizzie thinks she’d have missed it were they not as close as they are right now. Idly, she wonders if she's hallucinating, because there’s no _way_ that this is happening. 

(What with the egregious chemical imbalance going on upstairs, she’s quite sure she’s more than capable of it.)

“You don’t mean that.”

Hope’s brow furrows ever-so-slightly, genuine confusion playing out across her pretty features. “Why don’t you think I mean it?”

“I don’t think we’re having the same conversation.”

“What conversation do _you_ think we’re having?”

Lizzie bites her lip, not quite willing to say it—not yet, at least. “I could ask you the same thing.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“What’s happening right now?” Lizzie asks instead, suddenly tired of it—the confusion, the holding back, the overarching _uncertainty_ of it all. Because, really: even if she tells Hope what she wants and gets rejected here, even if she gets burned for the hundredth time since her first crush at the ripe age of 12, it’s as if she suddenly doesn’t care anymore; she just needs this (whatever _this_ is) to be over. 

She needs to know where she stands, and perhaps more importantly, where the two of them stand in regards to one another, because she thinks that if she doesn’t in approximately the next three seconds, she’ll lose her freaking mind, and she wasn’t kidding when she told Josie that her mental health is the most valuable thing she has right now. 

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I… " she trails off with bated breath, silently begging herself not to lose her nerve. _Screw it_. “I kind of want to kiss you right now.”

Hope’s smile widens, and Lizzie’s absolutely _sure_ she’s going to laugh. 

She doesn’t, though—quite the opposite. “I kind of want to kiss you right now, too.”

(At this point, Lizzie’s _sure_ she’s hallucinating.)

“Look,” Lizzie begins, heart sinking painfully in her chest. “If this is a joke, this isn’t _fu_ —"

She stops herself, then—more like, _something_ stops her, then and—

Oh. 

_Oh._

Holy _crap_.

Hope’s _kissing_ her, full warm lips pressed oh-so-gently against Lizzie’s, the pert tip of her nose tickling Lizzie’s cheek, the aromatic scent of her pervading every one of Lizzie’s senses in the most heavenly of ways. 

It’s like magic—a whole different kind, though, since Lizzie already knows a heck of a lot about magic to begin with… 'cause, duh. Witch, and all that.

But, this… it’s different. Different from any boy (or girl) Lizzie’s ever kissed, warm and sweet and _soft_ in a way she never thought something so simple as a kiss ever could be. 

(In short? It’s perfect.)

❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖

**Author's Note:**

> thots?
> 
> also here’s the link to my


End file.
